


Insomnia

by SaphireCorona



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Insomnia, Mild Smut, Sweet, but i cant write this stuff, but so bad, im not a prude, more suggestive than explicit, my attempt at it anyway, quick, subpar smut, there's better stuff out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaphireCorona/pseuds/SaphireCorona
Summary: What better way to cure some sleeplessness than with some (quick) intimacy?





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> This God awful attempt at a story has been brought to you by hard liquor and a late night of well...insomnia. 
> 
> Don't expect anything good from this.

I never was able to sleep well.

As a child, it was because I’d rather continue playing cops and robbers than drift off into a boring land where none of my petulant fantasies ever seemed to play out. When I grew up, it was because I didn’t want to go to school. It was a lonely place and the dread alone kept me from escaping reality every night. Then, it was constant stress, worry, and anxiety about whether or not I was going to make it on my own. Now, there didn’t seem to be anything that kept me awake, I was just always awake, always tired. 

I had become numb to it: the dark circles that seemed to be permanently etched under my cerulean eyes and into my slightly sun touched skin, the restless, dreamless, two -maybe three if I was lucky- hours of sleep I managed to wrestle with every night. The dull, aching weight that lingered over me like an unseen demon that I had learned to live with. These things didn’t bother me anymore, though. One learns ways to manage their insomnia and whatever comes with it.

I had tried everything to wear myself out and force myself into some sort of physically exhausted coma. It never worked. As a naive child, my parents forced me into every sport, every academic club they could get their hands on to try and help me sleep but my mind was stronger than all their hopeless attempts. When the dead reclaimed the earth, I was wretchedly sanguine about it all. I thought maybe fearing for my life day in and day out would be the extra push my weary mind needed to seek a full eight hours of rest. Still, nothing. 

“Doll,” his warm voice broke through the thick fog over my muddled thoughts. “You there?” His hand waved slowly in front of my eyes. My lungs filled up with air, as if I had been withholding oxygen from myself to subconsciously knock me out. A few blinks and I focused on him like a camera focuses on a rugged mountain range splashed against the dying sunset. I smiled with an embarrassment that hardly registered with me anymore. 

“Sorry,” I sat up straight on his desk. “I couldn’t fucking sleep last night.” He chuckled airily and brushed the hair out of my eyes. He was always so gentle with me as if he was afraid of hurting me. He treated his other wives like ragdolls and me like a butterfly that was teetering on a dull knife. Any wrong push would send me careening towards my downfall. 

“I know,” he sighed and tapped my chin with his finger before walking away. “You were tossing and turning all night.” To the untrained ear, he would have sounded annoyed but it was uncharacteristic of him to show concern so he had to hide it behind a veil of teasing and ridicule. I crossed my legs under the black dress and directed my gaze to my swinging feet. 

“Sorry,” I murmured softly. He had the lights dimmed in his office and it was late into the night, well past midnight. He often stayed up late with me when I couldn’t sleep. He had me sleep next to him when I couldn’t sleep, too. He was the reason the other wives didn’t like me. To him, they were objects and treated as such. Me, he treated like a person.When he was with me, he was a different version of himself. 

‘A quick mind with a pretty face’, he had called me when I first arrived at the Sanctuary. It wasn’t long after that he offered me a soft place to rest my head as one of his wives. I found the idea of his polygamy a bit unorthodox but the world was no longer what it used to be. The living made up their own rules to mould a life that was better to suit their needs. He was no different. If he needed a myriad of women to satisfy his dark cravings who was I to stop him?

I was certain though, well close to certain, that he preferred my quick mind over anything else about me. He’d had me here under his watchful eye for more than half a year and never laid a hand on me. His suggestive comments and wandering gaze would sometimes make me second guess my conclusion but I never bothered to ask. After a few months he called me his favorite. I had challenged him and said he was just saying that so he could sleep with me. He had laughed in agreement but told me he still meant it. Either way, I enjoyed spending time with him whereas the other women didn’t. Maybe that’s what he preferred, someone who could be in the same room with him without slipping into a fear induced cardiac arrest. 

I knew what he was, the things that he had done. I had watched him put a scalding hot iron to someone’s face for stealing and beat Dave’s skull in with a bat when the man tried to take advantage of me. Still, he didn’t scare me. He couldn’t be worse than all the hours I’d spent lying in the dark, staring up at a vacant ceiling, letting my mind wander and create demons and ghosts to bribe me away from any sort of peaceful sleep. 

My train of thought had derailed again. “Just wish I could help you sleep, darlin'.” He stuffed a book into its home on one of the many bookshelves. “You want some fucking tea or some shit? That’s supposed to help you sleep, right?” I uncrossed my legs and rested my palms against the edge of the mahogany desk. Even if he had no physical interest in me and we felt more like college friends rather than a holy matrimony, I could never help myself from savoring the way he walked. He was always so confident. And that smile? I had forgotten how to smile until I saw him light up a room with a cocky grin. 

I laughed quietly. The darkness made anything louder seem intrusive. “Maybe some of that whiskey I know you got hidden in one of these drawers?” I drawled. He made his way back to me, pleasantly occupied by my rebuttal. I ran my tongue over my lips as he took the hint and went for the desk I was sitting on. 

“Straight to the hard shit.” He chuckled as he pulled the nearly full bottle out of the drawer. With the bottle in one hand, he gathered two small crystal glasses that were sitting on a small vanity in the corner of the room. My head swiveled as I studied him in his white t shirt and faded pants that were tucked into tall boots. “What’s on your mind, babydoll?” He poured a glass and handed it to me along with a light kiss on the forehead. I had never loved a man before, but the feeling of an everlasting electric shock when he touched me was the closest I was ever going to get. 

“You don’t have to stay up with me all the time. You’re tired. I can see it everyday.” It was true. Ever since his bad habit formed I could notice his torpid movements in the late afternoon that occurred like clockwork. He held his regret about staying up far too late well. 

“A man can't spend time with his darling wife?” He perked his dark brow and allowed his gaze to focus on me while he filled his glass. I shrugged and took a sip while meeting his eyes. 

“You have five other wives that deserve your attention as well, no?” The words burned on my tongue like the alcohol that seared my throat. Despite my knowledge and better judgement that he found so endearing, I caught myself skimming over a pool of jealousy at the mention of them. For reasons I couldn’t decipher, it bothered me, deeply, that he spent time with them when I knew they didn’t share a mutual desire to be anywhere near him. At least I enjoyed his company. 

“They’re always fucking crying.” He blanched in a way of annoyance that made me laugh. “Can’t have a pleasant conversation with someone who’s crying.” The smirk that danced across his lips was enough to soothe my simmering jealousy. At least he knew that they didn't want to be with him about as much as I wanted to be able to get some shut eye. 

All of his wives weren’t there on their own volition while I was. They made a deal with the devil so that their husbands would be spared from a dead life on the fences or so that their sick families would be given medicine without having to die trying to get it. I was different and they outcasted me for the fact that I didn’t share the one thing that bonded them: a hatred for the husband. I had no one to spare except myself and spending time with him wasn’t the worst way to spend the uncertain amount of time I had left on the Earth. 

“Your life must be hard.” I rolled my eyes and took another sip. Whiskey was by no means the answer to my problems but it helped my mind from getting lost in its own maze. He propped himself up against the arm of the couch in front of the desk and swirled the amber liquid in the glass thoughtfully.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I could figure out how to keep you from keeping me up all night.” His joke was dry, as was the rest of his twisted humor, but I appreciated it. It had taken me a few weeks to translate and adapt to his language. He was caring but never explicitly so. He found the death and misery of others comical while finding no interest in something as trivial as the Sunday comics. He was stern but had a knack for flexibility if you knew how to ask for it. He was...an enigma. 

“Well, unless you got some miracles hidden up your sleeve, your life’s not gonna be changing anytime soon.” It was a reality I had accepted long ago. He smoothed his hand over his peppered beard and appraised me like a classic car. After a few moments of silence between us, he pointed a finger at me as a signal of his sudden epiphany. This oughta be good. 

“What you need is to clear your mind and wear yourself out so damn much that you can't stay awake.” His voice was deep and rough and made my heart stutter with every breath. 

“You don’t think I’ve tried that? It doesn’t work.” I sighed dejectedly. Last week I had drowned out the sound of the outside world with a pair of headphones and my hands in the dirt as I worked out in the garden with the sun beating down on me. At the end of the day my hands hurt and the underside of my nails were cemented with dirt but I still was up until some ungodly hour reading a book that Negan offered to me a few weeks beforehand. That was also one of the few nights that I was in my own bed rather than his. It wasn’t because he had been sharing it with his other wives, I had simply turned him down out of guilt. 

“I’m not talking about running fucking laps or reading some boring ass book. Better than that, darling.” The grin that accompanied his remark was dark and full of everything that I was told to stay away from as a child. With pursed lips and perked brows, I crossed my arms over my chest, the glass dangling precariously from the tips of my fingers.

“Pray tell, what is the answer to my problems?”

He stood up and wrapped his hand around my arm. His grip was tight but gentle enough to let the slightest amount of blood to flow through my veins and keep me from getting too lightheaded. I glanced from his hand to his charismatic expression. My overactive mind was filled to the brim with guesses as to what his suggestion would be. The way my heart was racing led me to believe that a small part of me was hopeful in regards to certain possibilities that I had in fact not yet been exposed to. 

“I think,” he was whispering now, building the anticipation, “you should let me screw your brains out.” I stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips that were frantically trying to find words to fill the empty space. You’d think I was a prude by the shock that was painted across my face. He smiled charmingly back at me, pleased with my reaction. 

“What?” I half laughed and half choked on the air in my lungs. Eight months and he scarcely touched me; not like this anyway. It wasn’t like I had never thought about it but I also wasn’t one to explicitly ask for such things. He set my drink down for me before I sent it crashing to the floor. As his hand came back to me, he let his fingers purposefully drift up the back of my bare arms. “Why do you want to?” My voice squeaked nervously. I wasn't frightened. No, quite the opposite. I was, however, bewildered and drowning in the sound of the arguments taking place in my head. Was he teasing me? Was he serious? Was it out of pity or sincerity? All the questions and then some were formed into a singular inquiry. 

“Do I need a reason fuck my beautiful, super hot wife?” I shivered as the cool air kissed the bare skin he revealed on my neck when he brushed my hair back behind my shoulders. 

“No, I suppose not,” I admitted slowly as I tried to figure out what sort of games he was playing. “Why now? Why after all this time?” My eyes narrowed to disguise my doubt. “What do you want?” The first thing I had learned about him was that he never gave something for nothing. This sudden attraction was anything but instantaneous. It was planned and he had been waiting for the right time. 

He left little room between us, little room for me to change my mind, when he stepped closer to me. The heat from his body was hard to escape. It was different than the warmth I felt when he’d unconsciously lay his arm over me in his sleep or put his hand on my back to play the role of a gentleman in front of his less than genial concubines. Now, it felt like I was stranded outside in the middle of summer on the blacktop with no shade in sight. It was comforting but overwhelming at the same time. Up until now, I had never realized how much taller he was than myself. As I stared up at him he ensured my gaze wouldn’t wander by grasping my jaw in his hand. 

“So fucking suspicious,” he chuckled before kissing my parted lips. He had kissed me before, on the forehead, my cheeks, and occasionally my lips, but always in the same way; like he was afraid I would blow over like a house of cards. “I’m just tryin’ to help.” I could feel his devious smile form against my skin as his lips drifted over my jaw and down my neck. 

“You’re not exactly infamous for your generosity.” My witticism was lost in the gasp he elicited from me when he left a bruising kiss below my ear. 

“Well,” he pushed my legs apart with a growl and dug his hands into my thighs. “I’m gonna have to fucking change that then won’t I?” He pulled me to the edge of the desk where my chest was pressed against his. My heart dropped and disappeared somewhere in my body. I had played this out in my head a hundred times but now I was wishing I would have had a smoother transition from fantasy to reality. No taking back those prurient lust driven wishes now. 

“No time like the present.” It sounded more like an invitation for him to have his way with me than a smart remark and in a way, I guess it was. Though, seeing as my legs quickly found a place around his waist and my hands were between his skin and his shirt, I was hopeful he would read between the lines. 

“I got all fucking night, darlin.” He assured with a rough voice that made my cheeks burn in a way that I had become addicted to. My heart raced and pounded against my ribs in a valiant effort to save me from what I was about to allow. Both of the forces that I founded my sound, well thought out decisions on were being ignored. I was listening to the dark demon my mind had created from sleepless nights and smothered desires. If this was the only chance I was ever going to get to know what it was like to have a man as powerful, intimidating and sinister as him show me his definition of help then I was not going to pass it up. If my restless waking dreams were tormented now, they’d be drowning in regret if I had to spend the rest of my life wondering. 

I gave my wholehearted, sincere, and unwavering support of his wildly and openly suggestive  
comment by kissing him hard on the mouth. He seemed surprised by my unexpected urgency. Tonight was as good of a night as any to change his first impression of me. I wasn’t even close to the stone cold killer that he was but I wasn’t a porcelain doll that was meant to be kept behind a glass case either. 

He matched every part of my rushed, uncouth, avaricious fervor with heated, patient and smug ardor. His touch was subdued and soothing but I knew that wasn't him; not from what I had heard, anyway. He cupped my face in his habituated hands and rubbed circles over my blushed cheeks with his thumb. I was melting like ice over a scathing fire into him and I couldn’t even begin to understand why the other women always complained and lamented over the fact that he came within a five foot radius of them. I bit down on his bottom lip and moved my hand up his chest. It may have been a risky move but I wanted to see how far I could push him until he gave me what I was searching for. 

He pulled away and a deep drawn out chuckle resounded in his chest beneath the tips of my fingers. I stared up at him with a covetous haze that shadowed my blue eyes. “Fucking hell, babydoll, I shoulda gotten my hands on you a long time ago.” His cautious hands found the zipper that followed the length of my spine and parted the fabric with a quick motion. I felt the top of the dress fall off my shoulders and pool around my waist so his hungry gaze could devour every inch of my exposed skin. 

“Why didn’t you?” It took an unspoken amount of effort to get the words out when I wanted to keep kissing him. His egotistical smile made an appearance and his chestnut eyes grew darker as if he was trying to intimidate me into a submissive silence. 

“Did you want me to?” He asked in a low melodic tone that made me wish I had met him years ago so that I could’ve been granted with just a few more conversations. His hands found their place on my hips as he waited for an answer. “Speak up, doll, you can tell me the truth.” I was too far gone in my own thoughts to manage a coherent reply that wouldn’t make me appear desperate but he saw right through me. 

I glanced down to where the fabric had gathered around my waist. “A little.” A shrug followed my reply to make my desire a little more innocent. “You still didn’t answer me.” My confidence surged back and I looked him in the eye. I kept my expression as neutral and serene as possible. 

He grinned at my persistence. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. You’re not scared of shit and you sure as fucking shit aren’t scared of me.” As if it was a causal integration to his reasoning, he pulled me off the desk and onto my feet. I instinctively grabbed onto his arms before stumbling onto my backside. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” he pushed the rest of the dress off my hips and left me greatly outnumbered in the clothing department. “You are fucking special darlin'.” I stood in front of him, surprisingly unnerved by the fact that I could tell he was playing out the next twenty minutes a hundred different ways in his head. He chuckled at my smirk when his surveying returned to my face. “I’ve been waiting a while for the right time to see you like this.” He caught his tongue between his teeth in suspense and I bit my lip to hide my smile. 

“Special?” I reiterated, stalling him. 

His heart stopping grin fulfilled its purpose. “Very. Fucking. Special.” With every pause between his assurance he moved in closer until every exposed part of me was protected by the worn fabric of his clothes that chafed against my skin in all the right ways. 

I couldn't seem to hold myself back when I gave in to the way he let his lips graze mine just enough to trick me into making the first move that would give him all the consent he needed to have his way with me. As soon as my tongue followed the taste of the whiskey that lingered beyond his lips he picked me up to set my now bare legs back on the desk. Not willing to wait a moment longer, I forced his shirt up and over his head. At the same time, his hands reached for the belt around his waist that was responsible for keeping his overzealous self in check. 

I wished my hands hadn’t felt so cold with excitement so that I would have been able to enjoy every single sacred moment my fingertips moved against his chest. He managed to keep himself within my grasp as he hastily kicked his boots off so that his pants could join my dress on the floor. I had never seen him move with such a sense of urgency and the fact that he was this overwrought over the idea of taking advantage of my naive and dwindling willpower had me biting my lip. 

The way the scruff on his cheek tickled my neck as he kissed down from the edge of my jaw to my chest had me thinking the most salacious, risque thoughts that had ever been found aimlessly wandering my mind. 

“You definitely don’t need to be wearin’ this all the time, doll.” As soon as he removed the black lace bra that he had insisted I wear despite the fact he never saw it, he appreciated the unadulterated rise and fall of my chest created by my gasping breaths. I moaned clandestinely when the heat of his mouth impetuously found my breast. 

My hands were messing up his black hair in restlessness and I was burning up with an aching fever that I didn’t think could get any worse. “Fuck me.” The gasping remark was meant to be said with frustration in my head but when I heard the words come out of my mouth I realized that it was more of an explicit plead. At the sound of words that were the core of his everyday vernacular he looked up at me with a boastful grin. 

His tongue skimmed over the white teeth of his smile in a way that made him seem like he was proud of me. “I like the way you think, darlin’.” I wondered how the man that was tearing away the last article of clothing I had on me could hold all the darkness of the seven hells in his heart while being so deceivingly charming that he had coerced me into having sex with him on a desk in the middle of the night. 

With a bruising kiss, he pressed himself into me and pulled my leg up enough so that it rested just above his hip. I was hoping that the staggering sensation of urgency would have been alleviated when there was no longer a recognizable amount of space between us but I still caught myself digging my nails into his back every time he methodically moved against me. 

He groaned in a voice that was dripping with devotion and carnality. “We’re gonna have to start catchin’ up for all the time I haven’t spent screwing you in every goddamn room in this place.” His fingers dug into my leg and I whimpered desperately against him, enjoying the blissfully caustic aching I felt every time he moved in and out of me. 

I struggled to find the words to describe the overwhelming rush that was making my head spin and my vision take on an inebriated state. He could no doubt sense my body tensing around his and he managed to push himself against me more than he already had, meeting my moan with a dark growl that was my undoing

He pulled away from me and I couldn’t help but miss having him against me. Like the strongest drug, one quick hit and I was addicted to so much more than his cocky grin and deep melodic voice. I met his relentlessly burning gaze and breathed a smile. 

“Tired yet?” He grinned. 

“What if I say no?” The man loved a challenge. 

“I told ya I had all night.” He kissed me with assurance and I had no doubt he would fulfill his words to the fullest but shockingly enough, my eyes were starting to feel the weight of exhaustion. 

“Maybe tomorrow night.” I laughed softly, setting my sights for the couch behind him. He pursed his lips to hide his victorious smile. 

“Come on, doll, let’s go to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, you're still here? Because that was awful and I'm so terrible at ending things. Its always so awkward. 
> 
> Well, if it was okay, let me know (unless its out of pity). If it was awful, keep your thoughts to yourself because my ego is a fragile little thing.


End file.
